


lines drawn

by alohacowboy



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bright Merlin, F/M, Grumpy Arthur, Humor, Jealous Arthur, M/M, Mischievous Merlin, Old-fashioned Arthur, Rivalry, happy Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27788848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alohacowboy/pseuds/alohacowboy
Summary: arthur pendragon tried not to take the hiring of merlin emrys as a personal insult (or, the goofy au where they're both history professors).
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 105
Kudos: 218





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur Pendragon tried not to take the hiring of Merlin Emrys as a personal insult, but what was he supposed to think when he'd been warring with the man for nearly a year now. Arthur would write an article on Landscape and Warfare in Anglo-Saxon England, and a week later Emrys would come out with The Anglo-Saxon Campaign: A Study in Dishonour and Cowardice. It was a war that never ended, a win for Arthur followed directly by a win for Emrys, and the journal forums delighted in keeping score. Every morning when Arthur came into work, it was a betrayal to see the distinctive red of Emrys' ridiculous scarf, the head of messy black curls bobbing up as he glanced up at Arthur and then back down at his desk. Arthur and Emrys had not even spoken yet.

Arthur took a break after his classes, huddled in his office so his students wouldn't badger him about essays or ask him if he was related to Sir Uther Pendragon. He idled in his office, daydreaming about the finer points of battlefield toponymy and topography whilst simultaneously flipping through JSTOR and scribbling down the beginnings of a rebuttal to Emrys' latest piece of frippery. It comes as a complete surprise then when the door to his office opens without warning and the selfsame man emerges, rummaging around in his pocket and not looking at Arthur.

Add poor social skills to the running tally of faults, Arthur thinks sourly at this unwarranted and definitely unwelcomed invasion of privacy. Emrys mumbles distractedly in Arthur's general direction, 'You wouldn't happen to have a pen on you?'

Arthur is still holding his pen, so since the answer is obvious he doesn't feel the need to answer. Emrys doesn't seem to require even the semblance of permission, though, and snatches the pen from Arthur's fingers. Arthur almost hangs onto it but he figures that would be petty, so he lets go and watches as Emrys starts to scribble something on his hand like a plebe.

Arthur takes a deep breath in, determinedly trying not to let this fool interrupt his much-needed break time.

Emrys completely ruins this by saying, 'I never thanked you for launching my career.'

Arthur doesn't mean to squawk- it's hardly dignified- but sometimes a man can't help himself.

'No one listens to a person arguing against himself,' Emrys says, frowning at Arthur. 'Since we began conversing, my career has taken off.'

'Conversing?' Arthur snaps before he can help himself. 'Is that what you call it?'

'Yes,' Emrys says, big blue eyes all confusion. 'Of course. How would you characterise our conversations?'

Arthur wants to say, ' _War_ ,' but that's not a very eloquent response, and besides, all of a sudden he's not so sure. It _has_ been kind of fun to have someone to rail against, a face to a name to a dumbass idea. His arguments with Emrys have put a certain physicality to the theories that Arthur has expounded on in his articles.

'Well,' Arthur says reluctantly.

Emrys lifts an elegant black eyebrow and hands Arthur's pen back. 'It's nice to meet the man behind the articles,' Emrys says, staring at Arthur with a coolly amused gaze.

Arthur huffs.

Emrys stares at Arthur some more and Arthur barely stops himself from fidgeting. Emrys finally gives a half-smile and turns to leave, closing Arthur's door behind him.

The sudden absence of animosity leaves Arthur feeling inexplicably sad inside. Also, just what kind of game was Emrys trying to pull? They are archnemeses, and that's how it's gonna stay.

Arthur nods to himself. He'll think of a new plan of attack, and be ready for next time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> arthur continues his Reconnaissance Crusade- by twittering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a way to shamelessly indulge my 'hatefully-used petname' kink, but the _only_ way it got written is because of everyone's encouraging comments

Merlin loves twitter. He loves putting himself out there, because, hey, he's a friendly guy. Twitter's a little soapbox to air his views to the general populace, and also simultaneously a way of leveling the field that is ivory-tower academia. Scholars now throw up their publications on twitter which is the kind of open access that Merlin goes hot for.

He knows his peers at Camelot U think this view strange. Arthur especially. 

That is why you could've knocked Merlin over with a feather when he finds out that @arthurpendragon has started following him.

After the momentary spit-take, Merlin recovers and clicks through to see if it's legit Arthur trying to reverse-catfish him (or something): they have an-- antagonistic- relationship to say the least but Merlin knows that Arthur's _totally_ into him in a very emotionally-stunted way. How else can Merlin explain all the hot glaring and suspicious stalking that Arthur seems to do?

In any case, Merlin's absolute favorite thing to do is to fuck with people.

So he follows Arthur back, and then tweets-

@arthurpendragon is that really u, homeslice?

He notices that Arthur still has the default egg as his icon, the luddite.

Then, Arthur seemingly tweets back-

@merlinemrys I have followed you for strictly Research Purposes.

Merlin chuckles a little at the liberal use of capital letters, the proper punctuation; if Merlin didn't know Arthur as well as he congratulates himself that he does, then it would almost sound as if Arthur was trying to keep tabs on Merlin. 

Merlin frowns thoughtfully @arthurpendragon, a curl of fondness making it's way through him as he pictures Arthur henpecking his way through typing his tweet and squinting at his screen because he'd inevitably thrown his glasses case at Merlin's head in one of his many, many, **MANY** academic flounces, and stormed away before realising that his glasses were still inside the case.

It _shouldn't_ warm Merlin's heart the way it does, but Arthur's kind of like Grumpy Cat. But less ugly obviously.

Merlin remembers when he first introduced Arthur to twitter academia and the wet-cat faces Arthur had made.

Arthur had been distracted enough through setting up his twitter, that Merlin had snapped a sunburst of pictures now safely ensconed in a photo album titled 'biffle': there were enough hissyfit faces in there, to make Merlin wonder if Arthur was part feline. It would certainly go some ways to explaining why Arthur's default pose always seemed to be 'big-cat laze'. Merlin mused that if Arthur was a Mood, it would be Big Cat Laze with a side of Grumpy Cat. 

Merlin's Mood would obviously be straight-up Big Dick Energy.

He tweets-

@arthurpendragon how Very Professional of you, peaches

If Arthur was a fruit, he'd be One Juicy Peach: it's a decidedly mouth-watering thought. He would probably pair very nicely with a fruitcake, which is what Merlin's own mother has called Merlin on several occasions, and sometimes not very fondly at that either.

A little DM pops up in the corner of Merlin's screen-

@merlinemrys What are you playing at?

Merlin grins.

@arthurpendragon ....nothing

Merlin can honestly _feel_ Arthur's almond-shaped eyes narrowing down at his screen; the tentative henpecking is probably gonna pick up pace, Arthur's probably gonna go all violent fingerstabbing now. Merlin twiddles his thumbs gleefully, feeling oddly breathless for some reason.

@merlinemrys I highly doubt that. You're literally the shadiest person I've ever met. You look and sound appalling. You even have this distracting _smell_.

Merlin tilts his head at this tidy character assassination- it's almost-- sweet in a way, a very pointed kind of attention that Arthur shews towards Merlin. However, it wouldn't do to let Arthur know that, so Merlin smiles and promptly unfollows Arthur.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> merlin invites himself along to the battle of hastings re-enactment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was an excuse to write jealous!arthur. i think i've fluffed the characterisations a ~~lil~~ lot, but i enjoyed writing this silly version of them.
> 
>  **warning:** slight rpf??

Merlin didn't think he would find this outing fun. In fact, he had dug his heels in and stared mulishly at Arthur when Arthur had casually mentioned it in the Camelot U staff lounge a few days ago. Arthur had smirked at Merlin, and said, 'What's that _look_ for, eh Merlin? The practical application of battlefield toponymy and topography a little beyond you?'

That tone alone wasn't to be borne, Merlin had decided and promptly invited himself along to the Battle of Hastings re-enactment 

'It's raining buckets outside,' Merlin whined, now that the day had come to travel to the battlefield site, 'I'll catch my death out there.'

Arthur curled his lip and gave Merlin an unsympathetic look. 'It's barely drizzling out there, you big baby. You've got your wellies on, and that ridiculous raincoat- really, Merlin, how old are you- five? Because I really can't tell between that puerile raincoat, and the _rain bonnet_ that you've clearly pinched off some OAP.'

'I am dressed for the occasion, and I think I look positively fetching,' Merlin stated primly, smoothing his hands down the bright yellow raincoat adorned with cheerful ducks. The raincoat's detachable hood had been lost somewhere so he was now stuck with the cheap plasticky bonnet.

Arthur snorted and patted down his pockets to make sure he had everything; he hooked his very-sensible black umbrella over his arm. 'You're an embarrassment, is what you are. Stay well-clear of me when we get there because I refuse to acknowledge you as an acquaintance, let alone as a colleague.'

Merlin made a derisive noise. 'You could just un-invite me then if that's how you're going to be.'

Arthur sighed gustily. 'Somehow you've got it into your fool head that that is a thing that happened: I _never_ invited you in the first place as you well know.'

Merlin pretended to look confused.

Arthur looked down, and smoothed away the upward curl of his mouth with his hand. 'Well, c'mon then, I guess I'll give you a ride there,' Arthur said nonchalantly as he strode out his office door.

These days there seemed to be a lot of mixed signals between them, Merlin mused thoughtfully- Arthur's clearly one for keeping Merlin on his toes. Merlin doesn't quite agree with the style of Arthur's pursuit of Merlin's affections, but Merlin is magnanimous and willing to adapt to Arthur's unpolished wooing ways.

\----

Of course, Arthur immediately abandons Merlin once they reach the site. Merlin chunters a little under his breath because of this, but then he thinks that he's well-rid of the arrogant prat; Arthur's probably hot-footed off to somewhere where he's probably having a nerdgasm over a stupid suit of armor, which is the kind of thing which would bore Merlin to tears.

And, now that he's had a little wander 'round on his own, Merlin finds that he's actually quite enjoying this experience, and especially-so when he finds himself falling in with the reenactment actor group: he preens a little at the very obvious attention being paid to him by one of the actors playing a Saxon warrior. It feels a little illicit that Eoin (aka. Gwaine) has apparently broken character, but all the same Merlin rocks happily on his heels feeling very flattered. 'Yeah, I'm here today for a fight and hopefully for some loot,' here, Eoin eyes Merlin appreciatively, bonnet-raincoat-wellies get-up notwithstanding, 'it's just good fun, really. Have a good drink, a good laugh, and then a good scrap on the field.'

'You look very good in the chainmail, very authentic,' Merlin says a little breathlessly. Eoin's fine brown eyes twinkle at him. 'I'd say the same, mate, but there's just- _so much_ material you're giving me here,' Eoin chuckles, gesturing at Merlin's eccentric rainy day apparel.

Merlin blushes which seems to charm Eoin even more.

And, _that's_ when Arthur seemingly appears out of nowhere and inserts himself quite rudely into the conversation, eyeing Eoin up and down and smirking, 'I see you've met Macken, Professor Emrys- it figures you'd want to chit-chat with the _losing side_.'

Eoin only looks amused, cutting his gaze to Arthur briefly before immediately- and very gratifyingly- settling it back on Merlin, 'We're all three English here, Pendragon, no need to whip it out.'

Merlin, meanwhile, has been trying to sidle away from Arthur in a bigly way. 'I'm actually Welsh. And, I have no idea who this person is,' Merlin tells Eoin very earnestly, indicating Arthur with darting eye movements, 'I've never met him before in my life. I have no idea why he thinks I'm a professor: it's honestly a little disconcerting, he's been giving me such frightful turns, you've no idea how glad I am to have met you, Eoin.'

For a moment there, Arthur looks a little outraged that it's _Merlin_ who's disavowing Arthur rather than the other way around.

Eoin looks delighted. 'Welsh? Well, that entirely explains why you're so good-looking, Merlin. I'm half-Irish myself,' Eoin does a little hair flip here, and Merlin goes a little starry-eyed.

'Well, _I'm_ bloody English,' Arthur interjects stridently, side-eyeing Merlin and scowling, blatantly not liking what he sees there.

'You're certainly tow-headed enough for it, you bloody _Saxon_ ,' Merlin mutters.

Arthur slaps Merlin upside the head for calling him _that _, the rain bonnet providing very little protection against this kind of onslaught.__

__Merlin rubs the back of his head fretfully, glaring at Arthur all the while. Arthur glares right back at him._ _

__Eoin bursts into laughter. 'Gentlemen,' he says warmly and Merlin feels the ground shake beneath him which he finds quite surprising but which he immediately attributes to Eoin because _it's Eoin_._ _

__'Gentleman,' Eoin says again, smiling roguishly at them both, 'that little ground-shaking would be the horses. It seems the battle has begun!'_ _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is to show that arthur does know how to do his actual job, even if he is a lil absent-minded/preoccupied whilst doing it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still so encouraged by how everyone seems to like this ridic fic??

'Late again!' Arthur's class sings as he enters the room. Arthur glares at the smart-mouth in the front here, grinning up at him through heavily-mascaraed eyes.

'I'm the teacher,' Arthur reminds everyone grouchily, draping his jacket on the back of the chair.

'Okay,' the smart-mouth aka. Kara says, 'but we're always here on time. So if you could let us know so we can sleep a little later, that'd be great.'

Arthur doesn't dignify that with a response, just drops the heavy tome that is required reading on her desk with a bang, narrowly missing her hand. 'Tell me about the methodological basis for the systematic investigation of early medieval conflict landscapes in under ten words.'

Kara raises a cocky eyebrow at him, but Arthur can see her mind start working. She's a pain in his ass, but she's whip-smart and appreciates a challenge- he'd almost start to like her if she wasn't such a cocky little shit.

Arthur glances at the clock as she starts talking, thinks with a frown that, yeah, he has been late these past few classes- but Merlin's class doesn't get out until nine-fifty, and he always needs cheering up after it because it's a freshman class to begin with which is bad enough, but when you've got freshmen like _Valiant Smith_ and _Cenred Essetir_ to teach in that class, well, it's a matter of professorial solidarity for Arthur to go up to Merlin and casually bump a shoulder, offer a scathing word or two about jumped-up lil assmunches.

Although, Arthur thinks, scrunching up his nose. Merlin is an adult man even if he sometimes acts and dresses like he's five; Arthur probably doesn't need to, like, _coddle_ him. And- here, Arthur squints- he's pretty sure that Valiant, if not Cenred as well, had recently been suspended for participating in some sort of hazing ritual which would also mean that Merlin would no longer be suffering the displeasure of their company anymore. So why was Merlin still loitering outside in their shared-corridor at the end of that class?

'Professor,' Kara says, loudly.

'That lying liar- he's infiltrating enemy lines again,' Arthur hisses, 'that's what he's doing, he's playing into my sympathies so he can steal my ideas.'

'Uh,' Kara says, flipping rapidly through her notes. 'Is that- is that part of the author's argument?'

'What?' Arthur says, preoccupied. 'Break up into groups of four and talk about that.'

There's a chorus of confused muttering before the students hop to it, and Arthur leans back on his desk and strokes the stubble on his chin thoughtfully (he'd look great with a beard, he really would, and since it's getting to be winter he's thinking of growing it out).

But- _Merlin_ , Arthur reminds himself, and narrows his eyes. Trying to earn his sympathies _again_ so he'll spill his secret academic thoughts. Well, Arthur thinks, _two can play at that game_.

Arthur chuckles, which is as close as he can come to an evil laugh- Morgana's the expert in their family- and claps his hands once. Faces turn towards him, flushed with industrious thought, and last night's alcoholic exertions.

'Tell me what you've discussed, class,' Arthur says abruptly.

'But we've only been talking for-'

'Speak!' Arthur barks.

'Oh, boy, here we go,' he hears Kara mutter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains backstory on past gwen/arthur and a slight hint as to arthur's views on feminism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like to obsessively headcanon that arthur has been married/divorced, like, ten times (within the same lifetime even) because he has this Very Strange but Extremely Endearing marriage kink, like, he is the male version of the high school girl who makes an overly-wrought collage for her future marriage because they truly believe in ~wedded bliss~. basically, i just luv the idea of arthur (and merlin) having relationship baggage that is _good_ and has made him into the person he is now.

As the mother of a young daughter, it’s practically a requirement for Gwen that she pull that exaggeratedly impressed face that kids need to see when they're showing off a kitten gif like it's basically the best thing _ever_. But when it comes to all the cat videos on the internet and that one that looks like it’s _grumpy_ , Gwen doesn’t get it. Sure they’re funny, but it’s basically a seen one, seen them all deal.

If she’d had to guess whom amongst her colleagues was going to shove cat videos in her face, though, she would have said Merlin. The very last person she’d expected to giggle at this stuff is _Arthur_.

'What's got you so jolly?' Gwen asks curiously, as she comes upon Arthur in the staff lounge, watching him scroll through pictures on his phone. She perches on the armrest of the chesterfield that Arthur's currently lounging in.

'Memes,' Arthur says, like that’s a normal thing to say.

Gwen stares at a picture of a very fat cat that reads, ‘how I feel the day after Christmas’. 'You find these funny?' she asks doubtfully because in all the years she's known Arthur she's never known him to be given to frivolity, he was always so serious-minded when he was with her.

Arthur shoots her a disbelieving look. Because _Gwen's_ the one acting weird here. 'They’re incredibly funny. Have you ever seen a cat play the banjo?'

'I have taught the unteachable,' here, Gwen raises a pointed eyebrow at Arthur, who does not at all acknowledge the fact that he struggled with anything and everything that was even adjacent to undergrad organic chemistry until Gwen came along and base-catalysed his epoxide openings. 'I bet I could teach a clowder to make like a fucking orchestra.'

'Well, good for you then, _Guinevere_ ,' Arthur blusters.

'Me- _ow_ to you too, Arthur,' Gwen retorts with a grin, and Arthur lets out a surprised laugh.

Gwen arches an eyebrow at him. 'I like hearing that ridiculous laugh you do, it's one of the many things I miss about you actually.'

'I don’t have a ridiculous laugh,' Arthur protests, eyes brightening at Gwen's sentiment but mouth turning down in a slight pout for show.

'Mmh, yes, I think I would refer to it as an asinine _bray_ -'

'I have a charming laugh, very polished-sounding,' Arthur interrupts, scowling. 'Now stop mocking me. You wanna see some cat videos or not?'

Gwen sighs before leaning forward, allowing Arthur to show her the blasted videos. Though amusing, Gwen doesn’t find them nearly as hilarious as Arthur does, and she ends up watching the man more than she does the Youtube video. The cut of Arthur's jaw is even sharper, his hair dusted in a warm glow. It’s unfair that one person should be allowed to look this attractive.

'You even watching?' Arthur asks gruffly, and Gwen is delighted to see that her unwavering attention has caused the tips of Arthur's ears to go slightly red.

'Arthur,' she says seriously. 'My life is now more fulfilled because of these very videos that you've shown to me today.'

'Shut up,' Arthur closes out of the app, and Gwen watches as he pokes at the icon for twitter. 'You talked to Merlin lately?'

'Yes?' Gwen says slowly, only slightly put-off by the turn the conversation has taken. 'Are you two finally friends, or still stuck in the male posturing phase?'

Arthur shrugs, that little furrow that always shows up between his brows whenever he’s contemplating something appearing on his face. 'I can't quite make him out- he's certainly a very odd man.' He squints at his phone and pokes at the screen. 'Wonder what the hell this is?'

Gwen leans forward, slotting her chin comfortably onto Arthur's shoulder and squinting a little because she refuses to admit that maybe she- like Arthur- should be wearing glasses to read. Arthur's on a trending screen, and a brief skim reveals the hashtag he’s picked up is ‘#immodestwoman’.

'It’s a hashtag, babe.'

Arthur scowls. 'I know what a hashtag is,' he mutters, scrolling quickly through a block of tweets.

Gwen hides her smile in Arthur's jacket. 'Do you?'

'It’s the criss-cross portcullis sign you put next to words,' Arthur says impatiently. 'Keep up, Gwen.'

'How can I when you’re moving so quickly?' Gwen smiles lopsidedly.

'I can see why you didn't change your name when you were married to me,' Arthur says as he flick-reads through the #immodestwomen tag.

Gwen's smile quirks fondly.

'Although, I do maintain that if you have to _tell_ people you're an authority or an expert in your field then you probably aren't,' Arthur opines somewhat stuffily.

Gwen sighs forbearingly; she knows Arthur's heart is in the right place.

The door to the staff lounge opens and Merlin enters humming some off-key tune. He brightens when he sees Gwen and Arthur. 'Okay, you two?' he enquires affably as he potters over to the teakettle for a cuppa. Gwen watches Arthur's face assume an expression of studied nonchalance, and tries not to laugh at how transparent her ex-husband can actually be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still luving everyone's luv for this silly lil 'verse- pls keep letting me know what you think!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a peek behind professor emrys' impish facade
> 
> this chapter is a bit Heavy
> 
>  **warning:** rough english translations at the end

Merlin's job sometimes requires immense meticulosity and an intense visual imagination, able to disassemble space and cache its pieces in memory— to play jigsaw with land and air and sea.

The work is almost mystical— sitting in the reading room trying to put scales to a sketch on a map, gleaning names from the half-remembered grad school notes of explorers. The names of winds. The names of caves. The unknown name of a wandering oasis. A polysected Cartesian plane, coordinates, and scale bars. Quadrants to be filled-in.

He stitches together old photographs into their most likely configuration and can only imagine the shadow of War hanging over their cartographic features: dismembered roadways smoldering in the sand, villages pulverized, warplanes falling like hot ash from the sky. It exists somewhere in the endless series of buildings reconstructed from the monochromatic aerial visionaires; modern-day warfare sometimes making a baffling move toward medieval counter-siege; bombing targets camouflaged into the craggy mountains that need to be extracted from the grainy texture; that single train track weaving along the serpentine coast, waiting for a golden moment.

All these deaths neatly delineated by his pen.

And War is the vacuum, the machinery that bridges the pen and the bomb, the set of negations and parts missing, of villages strafed, of enemies exterminated, of people exiled. These maps are its scribe, its blueprint.

Merlin spreads his fingers across the sheathed map to the compass-looking device at the bottom: in medieval times, explorers used to carry a wind rose like the one depicted. It had eight winds, one for each cardinal and intercardinal direction. That’s how the directions were named— by the wind that came in through that way.

He thinks of those explorers who went looking for vanished cities. Things to mark down for the privilege of a name. For the lacunae in their maps. For the Royal Society. This is more or less how it works. A conqueror, Roman or English, steps onto the tip of the continent, an island in the ocean, or the heart of a desert, and its name changes, its meaning changes. In his actions he casts himself as protagonist in the story of all of man; a map gets made. Lands shift. Boundaries expand. He comes home victorious, and presents his maps in an atlas: history is in every map.

Merlin is suddenly and forcefully reminded of Wales, where shadows were a downy blue in the countryside evenings, when a beloved mist fell on the land and a lone milkcow lowed on its slow trek home. Memories of boyhood. Memories of rain. _Côf a lithr, llythyrau a geidw_ 1, Merlin murmurs and returns back to his work.

Professor Nemeth argues that the Market is the real War; Merlin is inclined to agree with her. The war of leveraging hunger, the war for the means of production and access, the war declared by one denominational currency on another, the dueling movement of human capital through invisible avaricious hands, the exchange of goods for futures, futures for guns, guns for oil.

After the explorers who dug for ruins, there came the explorers who dug for oil. The principle of it is the same. Pick your favorite spot and dig until you find some stratum, then widen your search until you strike gold— that infinitesimal but recoverable layer of the residuum of the ancient dead. They called it sweet crude. The prospectors would take a vial and taste it, the tar, the black blood of the Empire. If the War is the Market, if the Market is oil, if oil is death— it all comes to a neat circle.

Merlin blinks out of his academic trance and sees Mithian sitting across from him in the reading room. _Rhoi'r ffidil yn y tô_ 2, she says with an arched eyebrow, ink-smudged fingers steepled together and resting above the map. Merlin thinks she is wearing possibly the dowdiest cardigan he has ever seen, a frumpy headband to crown her; she's as beautifully Welsh as Merlin and he tells her this. He also tells her that he concurs with her paper, that he would like to co-author.

 _Mêl ar fy mysedd_ 3, she says with a sunny smile, rapping her knuckles once on the reading-room table, and standing up to leave. _Oh fyi mae eich saesnegwr gwirion yn cadw fy nghalon_ 4, she adds with an amused tilt to her mouth as she leaves.

Merlin hides his grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. memory slips, letters remain  
> 2\. what do you make of it, do you want to drop it  
> 3\. music to my ears/honey on my fingers  
> 4\. oh fyi your silly englishman keeps glaring at me
> 
> pls drop comments/questions if u enjoyed?? it helps me write the next chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> arthur is forced to associate with people who believe in Healthy EatingTM

Arthur learned that the staff lounge was a microcosm of the campus.

He also learned that no matter how many spoons are purchased for use in the staff lounge, there is never one left in the drawer when Arthur needs one.

'You're all bastards!' he mutters, flinging old toothpicks and sachets of salt and pepper aside. He finds a bent fork, encrusted with something brown and crunchy looking, and when further searching yields nothing further, he reluctantly takes the fork over to the sink.

He's still attempting to disinfect it with the weak, watered-down 'washing liquid' when Merlin walks in, looking bright and perky and freshly-showered.

'Have you been yoga-ing again?' Arthur says suspiciously, glowering at the bare length of Merlin's elegant neck and the enticing pert-ness of his tiny butt as Merlin pulls a yoghurt pot out of the staff fridge.

'How else will I keep my girlish figure,' Merlin replies with an insouciant smile, and proceeds to pull out a tupperware of cereal and a banana, and starts making himself a ridiculously healthy-looking meal.

The microwave pings, and Arthur peers suspiciously at the bent fork, decides that it will have to do, and goes to get his-- dinner. Lunch. Some meal. The days have blurred together since he had The Idea. Arthur pulls his day-old dinner-for-lunch chicken curry out of the microwave, and starts eating as best he can with the fork of doom.

Merlin sits down across the table, his foot accidentally brushing against Arthur's. Arthur nearly inhales his forkful.

George Brass, the Disability Liasion Officer, waltzes in while Merlin is hovering over Arthur, one hand already on Arthur's back, offering to do the Heimlich. Arthur is tempted to say yes, even though he's managed to swallow, but George is there, tut-tutting over the vanishing spoons, and really, Arthur's not that pathetic.

'If you've _quite_ finished cuddling with your boyfriend, Arthur,' Morgana says, plonking a cup of toxic-looking wheat grass on the table, 'can I have him? The Dean needs his specialist input.'

'No! Merlin's mine,' Arthur says, horrifically surprising himself in the process. He always says no to Morgana but this is- different.

His head snaps up and he looks at Merlin, who looks like he's trying not to laugh.

Morgana guffaws, pointing, 'The look on your face! I can't believe I finally got you to admit to it that easily, dear brother.'

'So much for our secret love,' Merlin grins at Arthur.

Arthur looks at Merlin's amused grin and swallows hard. He bravely inches his foot forward until it brushes Merlin's again. 'Who said anything about love?' Arthur scoffs. 'But objectively-speaking you are somewhat attractive. Even George over there would agree.'

George frowns and pauses in marking the milk level in the carton he's putting in the fridge. 'I suppose you will have your little jokes at my expense, Arthur, but I don't see why you need to drag poor Merlin into it.'

Merlin hasn't pulled away from Arthur's touch, though. In fact, Merlin rubs his foot back against Arthur's, and winks at him.


End file.
